


Don't Look Too Far

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Bad BDSM Etiquette but not really, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Doctor/Patient, Doctors & Physicians, First Time Bottoming, Gun Violence, Hospitals, M/M, Major Character Injury, Now with Spanish Translation, Spanking, Strangers to Lovers, discussion of domestic abuse, mild blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: The first thing Jihoon sees in the alley is the muzzle of a gun. The next thing, sprinting out into the light, is Kim Mingyu, aged 27. Jihoon would know him anywhere. He's dressed in all black, tight pants and even tighter shirt. There's a hole in his bicep, blood leaking from the wound sluggishly.Mingyu turns to face him and freezes, gun pointed at the ground. He's breathing hard. Jihoon doesn't even know where to start."This, uh, I —" Mingyu starts.Jihoon sighs."You have a bullet in your arm, don't you?"
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 51
Kudos: 346
Collections: Haggly Holidays!





	Don't Look Too Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agonies (Hyb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyb/gifts).



> I think the easiest way to explain the above tags is by telling you all that Mingyu is trying very hard to hide what exactly he does for a living and Jihoon is just trying to be a good Doctor. Either way, if anything makes you uncomfortable don't feel obligated to read. Your safety is always more important than any fic!!
> 
> Hyb, when I found out I was writing for you I was equal parts excited and terrified because I mean you're HYB you know?! I hope you like this, and if you're even just a tiny bit gotten then I've done my job ;) Title is from "Mariners Apartment Complex" by Lana Del Rey.
> 
> This fic has a playlist!! You can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5NwregdmnoGYO2YffpMzJy?si=4wwe1IJdRlGB1iV3CeLj-w)
> 
> This fic now has a Spanish translation!! You can find it [here](https://t.co/2OTbLnUPS3?amp=1) <33

_He keeps saying I owe you, says  
_ _Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood,  
_ _you must want something, just tell me,  
_ _and it’s yours.  
_ _-Richard Siken_

  
  
  
  


“Forehead laceration. Room Six,” Junhui says. He’s got this too pleased expression on his face that immediately tells Jihoon everything he needs to know about what’s waiting for him on the other side of the curtain. He takes the chart from Junhui’s hand. 

“It’s a pity he’s my patient,” Junhui sighs, “He’s really hot. Single too. It’s on his chart.”

And there it is. 

Jihoon glances up and narrows his eyes.

“It’s amazing you haven’t had a single patient complaint. This is an _emergency room_ , Junhui.”

Junhui smirks, running a hand through his warm brown hair, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Imagine working here without me. Patients love my bedside manner, you know.” Junhui leans closer, stage whispering behind his hand. “Who else but me can read your shitty handwriting?”

Jihoon frowns and waves him off. It probably looks a lot more dismissive from the outside, some smug know it all doctor bossing his nurses around. The two of them have been working together for a long time, and really, for all of Junhui’s less than professional comments about patients, he’s a damn good nurse. 

“Bedside manner, my ass,” Jihoon mutters as he heads toward room six. “More like star-struck by the McDreamy nurse.”

Jihoon takes one more look at the chart before he pulls back the curtain.

Forehead laceration, no, Kim Mingyu. Aged 27. Chief complaint, the gash above his eyebrow bleeding in a steady stream down his face. He’s got a set of nicely purpling bruises on his neck.

Jihoon clears his throat.

“Hello, Mingyu. I’m Dr. Lee.” He holds out a hand that Mingyu shakes automatically. There’s another bruise on his bicep. Jihoon adds it to his mental catalog of injuries.

He puts on a pair of gloves and stands at the side of the bed. Junhui’s got all the things he’ll need ready to go, ordered and everything, on the stand next him.

“Lie back for me, Mingyu.” Mingyu swings his legs into the bed and does as he’s told. “So, what happened here? Bar fight or something?”

Mingyu gives him an almost apologetic smile. 

“No, sir. I, well, it’s a little embarrassing to say out loud.”

Jihoon’s lip twitches as he suppresses a smirk. He busies himself with cleaning the gash.

“I promise you I’ve seen much worse than whatever brought you here. The more information you give me the better I can treat you.”

Mingyu hisses as alcohol touches the cut. He doesn’t jerk away though, and Jihoon is grateful.

“Well, I, um…” Mingyu is quiet for so long that Jihoon gets the cut completely clean. It’s not deep enough to need stitches, almost like a scrape from a ring. Jihoon changes gloves and readies a large band-aid. “It’s a sex thing.”

Jihoon feels the gears in his head grind to a halt. He looks into Mingyu’s face, the sheepish smile, the softly pink cheeks.

Okay, so maybe Junhui was right about him being hot.

“A sex thing,” Jihoon deadpans. The professional mask slips just a little as sarcasm drips from the end of the question.

Jihoon frowns. Mingyu’s eyes flash. Jihoon frowns harder.

“Yeah. A sex thing. It’s pretty much what it looks like,” Mingyu says. He trails a finger down the column of his throat and Jihoon has to turn and cough into his elbow. The scent of his white coat, laundry detergent and starch and sanitizing foam, helps bring him back to what he’s doing here in the first place.

He has to lean over Mingyu to get the band-aid in place. The back of his neck prickles.

“Be more careful next time. It’s better to safeword out of a situation than end up here.”

Mingyu laughs. He’s got a nice smile. Jihoon wants to run out of the room and shake himself, but instead he gathers up the bloody gauze on the table and tosses into the red bagged trash can.

“If that’s the doctor’s orders, I’ll keep it in mind next time.”

Jihoon sits at the computer in the room and scans his badge to unlock it. He types a few things in, takes note of the vitals Junhui had gotten earlier. He returns to his usual self in stages.

“You rated your pain pretty low, but I noticed a few areas of bruising you didn’t mention to the nurse.” Jihoon turns to face Mingyu again. He’s propped himself up on his hands, one leg hanging idly off the side of the bed, swinging lightly. “I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs and check out that bruise on your arm.”

Mingyu’s leg freezes. He situates himself back on the bed and sighs. “If you think it’s necessary, Doctor.”

Jihoon walks over and places his stethoscope over Mingyu’s heart. Strong and steady. Healthy, of course, like he knew it would be. His lungs are fine, too. He makes Mingyu sit up so he can listen to them from the back. 

He makes an educated guess and taps Mingyu’s lower back, between the bottom of his lung and his kidney. He hisses. Jihoon lifts his shirt enough to expose the skin and sure enough, there’s a pinkish purple bruise just starting to form.

Jihoon straightens up and lowers Mingyu’s shirt back down. Stethoscope back around his neck, he levels his eyes at Mingyu, puts on his best Serious Doctor expression.

“Take a break from the rough stuff until you heal up. Communicate better next time,” Jihoon sighs, a long suffering thing, and taps the side of his own neck, “And if you can’t talk, come up with something else.”

Mingyu’s face flushes again. He scratches his side, and the front of his shirt rides up. And there, strapped discreetly to his belt loop, is a holster.

“Sometimes you don’t realize until the damage is already done, you know?” Mingyu grins. “Sometimes it looks more painful than it feels.”

It’s probably part of the sex thing that brought him here in the first place. There’s no gun, just the empty holster. No danger. No reason to get security involved, or to fill out all the paperwork attached to it. Jihoon glances up into Mingyu’s face and he’s still grinning. He probably thinks Jihoon was staring at his skin. Shit.

Jihoon clears his throat.

“Well, Mingyu, you should be fine in a few days. Keep that cut clean and you shouldn’t scar.” Mingyu’s got dark circles under his eyes that Jihoon didn’t notice at first. He’s getting way too distracted. “Your nurse should be around in a bit to check on you, and you should be getting out of here once he’s got the discharge paperwork ready.”

Mingyu nods, pulls his phone out of his pocket and types away.

He shuts the curtain and takes a deep breath, rubs his hands over his face. He feels weirdly drained. Mingyu is probably the easiest patient he’ll have all night, but he feels like he’s chugged two energy drinks and crashing.

He turns around and Junhui is smirking at him from the nurses’ station.

For just a second, he considers that flipping Junhui off might be worth getting called in front of the medical director.

♞

Jihoon stares down at the latte art the barista insists on putting in his coffee. It’s a heart, very well done, but Jihoon doesn’t see the point of it. He’ll take one sip and the artwork will be ruined. Most days he doesn’t have time to enjoy his first cup of coffee like this, but he’s got an incredible two days away from the chaos of the emergency room. Actually sitting in his favorite coffee shop is just the first on a long list of things he’s got planned to unwind.

He takes a sip and turns his head toward the counter. 

It’s him.

Jihoon can’t remember his name, but he definitely wouldn’t forget the face. Forehead laceration. He’s holding two iced coffees and walking to a booth a few seats down from Jihoon. He’s not surprised that he’s not recognized. It’s not like he’s a doctor for fame or glory or anything like that. Helping people, making the important call in the split second between life and death. It’s enough for him. He doesn’t need to exist in any of his patient’s lives outside of their hospital rooms. He doesn’t really want to.

Forehead laceration sits with his back to him. A man is sitting across from him. He’s covered from head to toe in black, a mask over his mouth and nose. Even with most of his face covered, he’s still incredibly handsome. His hair is shaved close on the sides. He’s got dark eyes, color and feeling, like he’s trained to keep things hidden. He narrows them as soon as the guy slides into the booth.

Jihoon takes another sip of his coffee. He’s warmed from the inside out, tension easing out of his back as the heat spreads. The night shift gives him more money, but it’s a very feast or famine atmosphere in the emergency room. When someone comes in at three in the morning, it’s usually not from a runny nose. His last night ended with a car versus pedestrian. Pedestrian lost a leg, but considering how much worse it could have been, it wasn’t a bad trade. He’s been in the emergency room for years, but the worry of not doing enough still eats at him.

But instead of relaxing he’s leaning forward in his seat, pretending not to eavesdrop on a patient that he really shouldn’t even remember. He can’t hear what they’re saying, voices too hushed to make out any words, but the atmosphere seems tense.The guy in the mask has a blank white envelope between two fingers. Forehead laceration shakes his head. The man holds the envelope out to him, and Jihoon can almost make something out, _Jeon_ , _I can’t_ , it sounds like. 

This guy stopped being his problem the second he signed the discharge paperwork, but something about the scene in front of him is unsettling. Their conversation continues and Jihoon looks out the window. It’s better for everyone if he’s not caught staring. The guy in the mask is pretty skinny, but Jihoon has studied the human body for most of his adult life. He can see the strength hiding there where others would miss it, underestimate it.

Jihoon’s coffee is empty by the time forehead laceration takes the envelope out of the masked man’s hand. He opens it. A stack of photos, a stack of bills. Jihoon stands up, not sparing a single glance back. He’s got a lot of relaxation ahead of him, and thinking about the implications of what he’s just seen and the personal lives of former patients is the exact opposite of that.

He makes it back to his apartment, slips off his shoes and lounges on his couch with a book. It takes him a lot longer than he’s comfortable admitting to get the guy out of his mind.

♞

Spring warms into summer. Jihoon’s life is a routine of work, home, occasional nights out, and working out. It’s not very exciting, but it’s comfortable, stable. It’s good.

Jihoon isn’t superstitious, but he’s half tempted to run outside and look up at the sky. The emergency room is packed, drunk drivers, a patient from the local prison, even a kid that decided skateboarding at two in the morning was a good idea and ended up with a broken wrist. It’s got to be a full moon.

He hasn’t even had time to sit down, and when Junhui hands him a chart with a wink he doesn’t think anything of it. Everyone is running on overdrive, and Junhui is somehow never too busy for his usual nonsense. 

Jihoon doesn’t even glance at the chart in his hand. He can assess on the fly. He doesn’t have time, anyway.

He pulls back the curtain and it’s like a scene in a movie, like the entire world is moving at hyper speed around him while he stays still. 

It’s him again. Jihoon glances down at the chart while he shuts the curtain. Mingyu. Right. Kim Mingyu. Aged 27. This time, it’s a broken nose and possible fractured rib. He’s already been down to x ray, thank god. 

“Oh. It’s you again,” Mingyu says. He’s got his head tilted up to help stop the bleeding. Jihoon gets gloves on right away.

“I think I should be the one saying that,” Jihoon says. He pulls up the x-rays on the computer software. “Your nose is broken, but you probably know that already.”

Mingyu hums a little in agreement and Jihoon doesn’t take his eyes off the x-rays. It’s the past, not the present, that pulls him in. Mingyu’s ribs are fine, but he’s got quite a few healed breaks, enough that Jihoon is going to have to ask questions. 

There are only a few logical conclusions for the man across from him. The first, Mingyu is covering up domestic abuse. Both sets of injures he’s come in with lean in this direction. It’s so easy to lie on medical forms. Mingyu can write that he’s single even if he’s not. He can come into the hospital and lie and lie and go right back home to who knows what.

The second possibility is that Mingyu is working as a bouncer or something like that. Jihoon glances at his chart. No mention of his employment. No insurance on file, either. He’s been paying with a credit card. If Mingyu has a job like that, where he’s breaking up fights, it’s easy to explain the injuries he’s come in with and the past ones, too. Break up enough fights in your life and yeah, you probably don’t always walk away unscathed.

Jihoon turns away from the computer screen and walks over to Mingyu’s bed. Instead of his street clothes he’s in a hospital gown. It makes him look worse, somehow. The pale blue contrasts with the red in a way that makes Jihoon think of shark attacks.

“You don’t have any rib fractures.” Mingyu lets out a relieved sigh and Jihoon presses on. “You’ve had several though, in the past.”

Mingyu turns his head away from Jihoon. Something in his chest goes impossibly tight. 

He puts a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. He doesn’t need to. It feels like he’s toeing the line of professionalism even though plenty of doctors offer a comforting touch to patients. Jihoon just...doesn’t.

“Is this a domestic thing, Mingyu? Are you safe at home?”

Mingyu’s head whips toward him so fast Jihoon worries his nose will start bleeding again. He looks at the hand on his shoulder, glances up at Jihoon’s face and then back down, eyes hovering around chest level.

“I’m not really sure why you’d jump to that conclusion, sir,” Mingyu says. The tips of his ears are red, and Jihoon can’t figure out if he’s embarrassed or angry or something in between. “I live by myself. I’m not seeing anyone, haven’t been for a long time.”

Something chips off in Jihoon’s chest and falls into the pit of his stomach. 

“Then explain it to me. Because it looks a hell of a lot like you’re being hurt, regularly, by someone. These aren’t injuries you get from whatever bullshit excuse you’re going to give me.”

Jihoon doesn’t get angry at patients, not like this. This is anger saved for people in his real life, people that know him well enough to not take it too seriously. 

He takes his hand off Mingyu’s shoulder and sighs. Mingyu turns, hangs a leg off the edge of the bed, and smirks. Even with bloody gauze held up to his nose he’s still this self-assured.

If they weren’t in an emergency room he would absolutely punch him.

“Now, Doctor, what makes you think I would ever give you a bullshit excuse about why I’m here? Do I seem like a liar to you?”

Jihoon has to bite his lip to keep from saying something that will absolutely get him fired. He takes a breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“Even if I think you’re lying, it doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything unless you tell me the truth.” Jihoon turns to the stand where Junhui has laid out anesthetic, gauze and medical tape. “Let me get your nose set while you go through what brought you here.”

Jihoon takes the gauze away from Mingyu’s nose. It’s mostly stopped bleeding. He wipes the area as gently as he can with alcohol wipes. Mingyu still hisses. 

“I saw you, you know,” Jihoon says as he slides the needle just under Mingyu’s skin. He should be telling Mingyu what he’s doing as it happens. He doesn’t. “A few weeks ago. You were in a coffee shop with a man dressed all in black. He gave you something.”

Mingyu’s hand grips his wrist just as Jihoon finishes injecting the anesthetic. When he pulls his face back enough to see Mingyu his expression is controlled, practiced. Intentionally blank. But Jihoon can see how wide his eyes are from this close.

“That wasn’t me,” Mingyu says, and Jihoon snorts. He touches the side of Mingyu’s nose with normal pressure.

“Can you feel that?”

Mingyu shakes his head and Jihoon takes a breath.

“There might be some noise. I’m gonna set your nose.”

Jihoon busies himself getting the bridge of Mingyu’s nose back to a mostly straight line. He’s definitely covering something up. The problem is that what he said earlier is the truth. Abuse, dangerous work, even just clumsiness. Jihoon can’t help if Mingyu doesn’t tell him anything.

He imagines the man from the coffee shop. He wonders if he could break his nose the way Mingyu’s is broken before the guy knocked him out. Jihoon would try.

Once his nose is back in place it starts to trickle blood again. Jihoon holds some gauze there.

“I know it was you,” he says, picking up their conversation.

Mingyu grins. There’s a little blood on his teeth. 

“Really? Did I leave that much of an impression on you, doctor?”

Jihoon frowns. He pulls back the gauze and no more blood flows from Mingyu’s nose. He straightens up and disposes of his supplies, needle in the sharps, gauze and gloves in the red bag.

“You sure are full of yourself,” Jihoon mutters. At some point professionalism flew out the window, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to get it back until he leaves the room. “Being observant is my job.”

Mingyu’s still grinning. “Whatever makes you feel better. Whether it was me or not, either way, you should probably forget about it.”

The words set off a thousand alarm bells in his mind. Jihoon pumps some hand sanitizer in his palm, rubs it in and tries very hard to gather himself. He puts on a fresh pair of gloves once his hands dry.

“Show me your ribs,” he says.

Mingyu unties the front of his hospital gown and opens it. His body is impressive enough that Jihoon is leaning toward bouncer. His chest is a swell of muscle tapering down to abs that are toned and lean. The skin from his ribs to the line of his underwear is dark purple, heavy redness underneath. He’s lucky there are no fractures with bruising this bad.

“Your nose is broken and you got the shit beat out of you. Why?” Jihoon asks.

Mingyu shrugs. He leaves the gown open.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” he answers. Jihoon clenches a fist at his side. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. I ended up in the middle of something and paid the price for it.”

Jihoon relaxes his hand. 

“You can close your gown back up.” He turns back to the computer and clicks around on the screen. “I’ve prescribed you some pain meds. It’s probably going to hurt to breathe deeply, but do it anyway. You don’t want to walk back in here with a respiratory infection. Be careful of your nose, too. It won’t be so easy to set, next time.”

When he turns back Mingyu’s expression is softer, a little more open than it’s been most of the night. Like both of them are slipping on and off very different masks.

Jihoon has never wanted to know anything about a patient the way he wants to know about Kim Mingyu. It makes him want to throw weights around in the gym until he feels more like himself.

“If you keep coming here, it’s going to be harder for you to explain these injuries away. Eventually it won’t matter if you’re lying or telling the truth. Things will escalate out of my hands. Take care of yourself, Mingyu, then you won’t have to worry about it.”

Jihoon leaves the room without saying anything else, not even a glance back at the man in the hospital bed. What would Mingyu say about him on the patient satisfaction survey? Dr. Lee Jihoon fixed my broken nose but he called me a liar? He did his job but was kind of an asshole?

It’s still barely controlled chaos, and Junhui hands him a stack of charts.

“Sign these orders. I’ll get him out of here.” The too pleased grin makes Jihoon even more sulky.

Junhui enters the room and there’s a distinctly loud crash from him tripping over the bedside table. Mingyu must have left his gown open.

Jihoon can’t help but laugh. Junhui kind of deserves it.

♞

Sometimes, Jihoon gets suckered into working evening shifts instead of night shifts. It means going home for a few desperate hours of sleep before throwing on his white coat, but when the other doctors have families it’s easy for them to ask, easier still for Jihoon to feel guilty if he says no. 

He’s walking home, the world around him weirdly too sharp and fuzzy. It’s a good thing he’s off tomorrow. He’s going to face plant into bed and might sleep the whole day away.

The air is still warm. The stars shine between the streetlights. It’s a beautiful night, and the stress of the past few days works itself out of Jihoon’s shoulders.

When the weather is nice, Jihoon walks. It’s only ten minutes to his apartment, and it’s a good time to clear his head. The half way point in his walk is a stretch of three buildings, a night club, a bar and a convenience store. It’s a weekday, so Jihoon doesn’t have to worry about fighting his way through the crowd. 

His scrubs are navy and his white coat is tucked away in his bag. People tend to stare if he wears the coat on his commute. 

It’s between the bar and the convenience store that Jihoon hears a pained grunt, shuffling feet. He stops right before the alley and three huge men run past him. One of them has a broken nose, another holding his stomach while blood pours from his side. They don’t stop running.

The first thing Jihoon sees in the alley is the muzzle of a gun. The next thing, sprinting out into the light, is Kim Mingyu, aged 27. Jihoon would know him anywhere. He's dressed in all black, tight pants and even tighter shirt. There's a hole in his bicep, blood leaking from the wound sluggishly.

Mingyu turns to face him and freezes, gun pointed at the ground. He's breathing hard. Jihoon doesn't even know where to start

"This, uh, I —" Mingyu starts.

Jihoon sighs.

"You have a bullet in your arm, don't you?"

Mingyu doesn't answer him, but he doesn't really have to. The scene has told him everything he needs to know. Mingyu tucks the gun in a holster at his back. He looks down at Jihoon, and it's not an uncommon occurrence, but maybe it's because when Mingyu is in a hospital bed, Jihoon is the one looking down. It makes the whole thing seem real and not real at the same time. Like the sleep deprivation.

"I can't go to the hospital," Mingyu says, finally.

It's like the pieces are finally starting to click together. Mingyu isn't a bouncer, but he's definitely...something. Getting hurt is part of his job. He's doing said job right now, dressed like a bodyguard and aiming a gun like he's done it hundreds of times before.

There are two things Jihoon can do, now. He can do the right thing, take Mingyu to the emergency room kicking and screaming, get someone on duty to get the bullet out of his arm, sit with him through the mountains of paperwork, the police statements.

The second option is to keep Mingyu away from the cops, dig the bullet out of his arm himself, and send him on his way.

It's a five minute walk in either direction. It's a choice of ethics, or maybe morals.

Do No Harm, but which option would cause Mingyu the most harm, really?

The choice should be harder. Jihoon shouldn't have any sort of feeling about keeping Mingyu safe except in a strictly medical sense.

Instead, he's looking around them, taking in the people on the street, checking for any other men dressed all in black.

He finally steps closer to Mingyu.

"Are you going to be followed?" he asks.

Mingyu looks at him like he's suddenly grown a second head. He's quiet for a while, looking down at the ground with his lip trapped between his teeth.

"No," he answers. Jihoon wasn't expecting much else.

"Let's go."

He reaches out for Mingyu, who takes a reflexive step back.

"I told you. I can't go to the hospital."

Jihoon rolls his eyes and manages to get Mingyu's wrist in his hand.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital. Do you want the bullet out of your arm or not?"

Mingyu stares at the place they touch. His body is visibly tense, and Jihoon wonders if he's just going to run for it. Maybe he'll dig the bullet out himself. The thought makes Jihoon's stomach turn.

"Okay," Mingyu says.

He pulls Mingyu gently in the direction of his apartment.

The walk is silent. Jihoon doesn't let him go. Blood is trailing toward his ungloved hand in a sluggish line, and really, Jihoon should be more afraid of it. It's a product of working in healthcare. Treat all blood and body fluids like they will expose you to a pathogen.

He's not worried, though. He's got gloves at home, and getting Mingyu into the relative safety of his apartment is his top priority.

Once the door is shut and locked Jihoon lets go of Mingyu's wrist. He slips off his shoes and walks down the hall without looking back, trusting that Mingyu will follow him.

The bathroom is laughably clean. White walls and white tiles and fluffy white towels. Jihoon gathers his supplies and Mingyu sits on the edge of the bathtub. The nice thing about being a doctor is that he's got a pretty good supply of first aid, including a suturing needle.

He douses everything in alcohol and gloves up.

"Have you ever had a bullet taken out before?" he asks.

Mingyu is quiet. He's staring at the white tiles like he's dazed, and for a moment Jihoon is concerned about blood loss. Maybe the bullet nicked his artery.

"I have," Mingyu says. He's still looking at the floor. "Fucking hurts."

Jihoon bites back a laugh, remembers that he's not in the emergency room, and lets it out.

"I bet it does. The best I can do is give you a stiff drink."

Mingyu shakes his head, finally meeting Jihoon's eyes. His pupils are blown.

"I'll be okay."

Jihoon hums. He puts all of his supplies on a little tray and gestures Mingyu to sit on the floor. He kneels between his legs, and his face is just eye level with the bullet hole.

Tweezers in hand, he braces the other on Mingyu's shoulder.

"Here we go," he says as warning.

Mingyu grips his own thigh so tightly his knuckles turn white.

It's not pleasant for either of them. Jihoon doesn't want to hurt Mingyu when this could be painless in the hospital. But they are both here, and Jihoon can only work quickly and cleanly.

He misses the bullet once, tweezers slipping off the smooth surface. Mingyu sucks in a breath and slams his hand into the side of the tub.

"Shit. Sorry," Jihoon mutters, "Almost got it."

Mingyu's face is pink. He pants a few times before holding his breath as Jihoon goes back in with the tweezers. He's got it, and he pulls as quickly as he can without letting the bullet slip from his grip.

It's smaller than Jihoon figured it would be. He drops it on his little tray and Mingyu's breath shudders out.

"That hurt a lot more than I remembered," he says.

Jihoon scowls. "Are you saying I'm bad at this?"

Mingyu manages a half smile.

"No. I'm saying it's been a while since I got shot. I try not to make a habit of it."

He can't help but press, just a little.

"Is that a regular hazard of your job?"

Mingyu looks at him. It feels very much like he's trying to see all the way in, like he's got Jihoon on a scale, deciding if he's trustworthy enough for whatever secrets he keeps hidden away.

"Sometimes," he says, slowly.

He's going to get nothing but half answers. It's fine. Jihoon can live with it.

With the bullet out, the wound is free to bleed. He's got to get some stitches in.

"Almost done. The stitches shouldn't hurt as much," he says absently. He gets the needle threaded while Mingyu shifts on the floor. Their legs are touching, now.

Taking care of a sick person always comes with a certain level of intimacy. In school, Jihoon and his fellow medical students had to practice closeness exercises, both to get themselves comfortable with being in a patient's personal space and to better understand how a patient is feeling.

He holds Mingyu's arm still with one hand and cleans the wound with saline. Mingyu gasps. His legs squeeze Jihoon reflexively.

The intimacy is different here, sitting on his bathroom floor. It doesn't feel like Mingyu is his patient at all.

Maybe he should have put the white coat back on. Maybe he’d be in the right mindset then. 

The needles sinks into Mingyu's skin easily. He hisses and Jihoon has to tighten his grip on his arm to keep him still.

"You can hold still for a bullet getting pulled out of your arm but not for this?" Jihoon smirks.

"You're a lot nicer in the emergency room," Mingyu grits out. "It's not very comfortable okay?"

"This isn't the emergency room, obviously. I don't have to have bedside manner in my own apartment."

It goes quickly after that. Mingyu takes a deep breath and Jihoon works as fast as he can. Soon enough the wound is closed and Jihoon sets the needle on his tray. He cleans the skin again before wrapping his arm with bandages.

Mingyu is breathing heavily. Adrenaline can do wonders, but Mingyu is probably coming down now, the pain worsening as his body returns to normal.

"Thank you," he says softly. Jihoon finishes bandaging his arm and looks into his face.

Something about his expression, the pinkness of his cheeks, the way his eyes are half lidded. Maybe it's the near delirium of sleep deprivation.

Jihoon takes his gloves off without breaking eye contact, leans in and kisses him.

Mingyu makes a soft sound, surprised, pleased, Jihoon can’t tell, but his hands wrap around Jihoon’s waist and pull him closer. 

He deepens the kiss, straddles Mingyu’s hips and slips his tongue inside. Jihoon winds his arms around Mingyu’s neck and he gasps.

“Shit. Sorry,” Jihoon murmurs against his lips. He eases his arm away to take pressure off his injured arm but Mingyu reaches up and stops him. His eyes are dark.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as you think.”

Jihoon’s mind flies back in time, to Mingyu sitting on a hospital bed talking about rough sex. He wonders if it was less of a lie and more of a half truth, at least as far as what he likes in bed is concerned. He kisses Mingyu and his hands slip under Jihoon’s ass, pulling him in closer until his crotch is pressed into Mingyu’s abdomen.

He knows the outline of his cock in the front of his scrubs is obvious. Mingyu shivers and squeezes his hips before he breaks the kiss to pant into the side of his neck.

“I’ve never — with a guy —” Mingyu mumbles. 

Jihoon’s fingers slip into his hair. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Mingyu shakes his head and looks up, eyes locked with Jihoon. There’s something hungry, a wolf prowling just under his skin.

“I want to. I know how it works, I just —”

Arousal is molten under Jihoon’s navel. He moves back enough to take off his scrub top and toss it to the floor. Mingyu spends a long time staring at him, the planes of his abdomen, the hard muscles in his arms. Jihoon isn’t an exhibitionist but the attention makes him hot all over, anyway.

“Undress. I don’t want blood on my sheets.”

Jihoon stands up and Mingyu is quick to comply, so quick that he makes a note of it, stores it away in a dark part of his brain for later use. Mingyu’s shirt and jeans are off in record time, and Jihoon takes his scrub pants off and leaves them in a pile on the floor. He can’t help but stare at Mingyu. Professional glimpses of his body in hospital rooms can’t compare to seeing him like this, cock straining against his underwear, eyes wide with desire.

Jihoon leads the way across the hall to his bedroom. It’s nothing special, bed pushed against the wall, single dresser, a guitar tucked into the corner from university. 

Mingyu sits on his bed and grins, all canines and bad intentions. Jihoon pushes him flat on his back and climbs on top of him, kissing the grin right off his face. Mingyu’s skin is burning up underneath him, and a distant part of him worries Mingyu’s got an infection, that he handled things carelessly and his body is fighting for survival. It’s easy to ignore if Jihoon focuses on ruining Mingyu himself, instead.

He sits up and traces the dips between his pectoral muscles with his finger, down Mingyu’s abs all the way to his underwear. His inhale is shaky, muscles tensing under Jihoon's hands. There's so much strength in the body beneath him. Jihoon wonders absently if Mingyu could hold him up with one hand, how easily he could fuck him against a wall.

Not tonight, though. Jihoon leans forward and kisses him again, fingers wandering just inside his waistband. Mingyu cants his hips up, seeking friction from the gentle touches. Jihoon nips his bottom lip, teasing, and breaks the kiss to swat his thigh.

The sound Mingyu makes at the contact goes straight to Jihoon's dick.

"You like that?" Jihoon asks, smirking. When Mingyu doesn't answer he does it again, harder. Mingyu's entire body shudders, face flushing hot. "I'll remember that."

Jihoon has to crawl over Mingyu to get condoms and lube out of his nightstand. Mingyu takes the opportunity to plant messy, open mouthed kisses against his stomach. Jihoon shivers as Mingyu’s hands splay across his skin. He’s lingering longer than he really needs to,but he can’t bring himself to move away from Mingyu’s touch, each kiss sending fire through his veins. Eventually he moves back, sets his things next to Mingyu's thigh and makes space for himself between his legs.

“So what have you done with other men?” Jihoon asks. Mingyu’s face flushes dark.

“Well, I —” Mingyu groans when Jihoon grips the outline of his cock through his briefs. “Everything else, I guess. I had a guy ride me once. _Fuck_ ,” Mingyu’s voice grates as Jihoon palms him roughly.

“Have you ever had anything inside of you?” 

Jihoon lets his hand slip lower, still over clothes, fingers tracing the curve of his ass. Mingyu's breath hitches.

"I've fingered myself before, yeah," Mingyu says.

Something breaks loose in Jihoon's gut. He bites his lip, eyes landing on Mingyu's hands like a magnet.

Mingyu’s fingers are as long as Jihoon’s but quite a bit thicker. The size difference isn’t as bad as their height difference, but for once Jihoon is grateful. If Mingyu has fingered himself before, he’ll be much better at handling what’s coming.

"What do you like?" Jihoon asks. Mingyu laughs.

"Are you always so clinical about everything?" Jihoon frowns but Mingyu continues. "Most people feel it out, you know. It's more fun that way."

It's not the first time he's heard this. It's just the way his brain is wired after years of med school and working with patients. Everything is a recipe to follow, a questionnaire, boxes to tick, a formula. It's why he sticks to casual sex more often than relationships.

"You don't think it's part of my charm?" Jihoon asks, trying and failing miserably to not sound like he’s sulking. He makes up for it by cupping Mingyu through his underwear.

Mingyu grunts and presses back against his hand. "You fucking me is the most charming thing you can do right now."

Jihoon smirks. "Let me show you what to do, then."

He pulls Mingyu's underwear off and tosses it off the bed. His cock strains in the air, precum beading at the tip. Jihoon wraps his hand around him, gives him a few strokes and Mingyu gasps, bucking into the friction. His fists are balled up in the sheets, white knuckled and Jihoon isn't sure if it's pain from his arm or nerves from getting fucked for the first time or maybe something else.

He teases Mingyu's cock until his thighs shake. He takes his hand away and hits Mingyu across the back of his thigh, hard enough that the smack echoes in the room. Mingyu groans, cock twitching hard between them.

" _Fuck_ ," Mingyu groans, and the grit in his voice has Jihoon slicking up his fingers, feeling the same kind of desperation.

"Gotta get you ready," Jihoon says roughly. He presses his finger against Mingyu's rim and his thighs fall open almost reflexively. "Use a lot of lube. When you think you’ve got enough, use some more. It's messier but it's easier." Jihoon smirks. "And I doubt that's the kind of sex thing you want to go to the emergency room for."

Mingyu's head falls back against the pillows as Jihoon pushes in. It's not the impossible tightness Jihoon imagined it would be. It’s a relief. He pulls out, adds a little more lube, and pushes back in. Mingyu groans. His hands unclench from the sheets and he tucks them behind his head. How he can do that with a fresh wound in his bicep is beyond him, but Jihoon doesn't worry about it too much.

It's an easy rhythm, one that Mingyu settles into right away, rolling his hips to meet Jihoon's hand in no time at all.

"So you _are_ used to it," Jihoon says, teasing. Mingyu makes a small sound in the back of his throat. "Let's see how you handle more."

The second finger slips in easily next to the first. There is a stretch, this time. Jihoon shudders, imagines his cock inside Mingyu and his brain goes a little hazy. Mingyu's fingers twist back into the sheets.

"You alright?" Jihoon asks. He doesn't move his fingers. Eventually, Mingyu nods, eyes screwed shut. Jihoon frowns, glad Mingyu can't see it, and grabs his cock with his other hand. He matches the pace of both hands and it's not long before Mingyu is relaxed against the sheets again, panting as his hips buck up into Jihoon's fist.

He crooks his fingers, presses up, searching. It takes him a bit to find, but when he presses that spot inside of him Mingyu shouts " _Oh, fuck_ " and he squeezes Jihoon’s body between his thighs, back arching. He grins and presses into his prostate again, and again, the hand on his cock stroking lazily.

He adds a third finger without Mingyu even realizing it. The stretch is still there, but Mingyu's lost enough to the pleasure that he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, his hips roll down into it, seeking.

It’s then that he takes his hand off Mingyu's cock brings it down on the curve of his ass, just visible from the way his body is folded. Mingyu gasps.

"You _really_ like it," Jihoon says. Mingyu doesn't hide it this time, nodding eagerly.

Jihoon shoves his fingers as far inside of him as he can and smacks his ass again. He tightens around him, moaning.

" _Please_ ," Mingyu pants.

Jihoon could do this all night, spend hours working Mingyu up and up, just like this.

Instead, he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets. He rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolls it on, dousing his cock in lube and working it over the length.

"Hands and knees is easier, but we can do it like this too. It's up to you," Jihoon says.

Mingyu stares at him, eyes roaming his skin, zeroing in on his cock, on the way Jihoon strokes over himself. This time it feels like Mingyu is sizing him up in the literal sense. He meets Jihoon’s eyes with a lopsided smile.

"Like this. I want it like this."

Jihoon smirks. "Alright."

He isn’t bothered by how easily Mingyu’s leg fits over his shoulder, their bodies perfectly proportioned for this. He lines up and waits for Mingyu to nod before he pushes in.

"Just breathe," he grits out. Mingyu is unbelievably tight around him, even after prep. "Relax and breathe."

Mingyu stares up at him with wide eyes, lip trapped between his teeth. He does what he's told, breathes in and out, and when Jihoon bottoms out he lets out a breath of his own.

Jihoon leans down and kisses him, snakes a hand around his cock to distract him enough to relax. Mingyu's hands wind around his neck and he moans into his mouth, tongue gliding across Jihoon's like he's memorizing it.

He strokes Mingyu's cock and eases his hips back, pressing tentatively back in. Mingyu breaks the kiss and mumbles _don't stop_ against his lips. Jihoon is happy to oblige him. He gets up on his knees, hand still wrapped around Mingyu, and pulls half way out, thrusting smoothly back in. He sets an easy rhythm, each thrust a little harder, a little deeper.

It's the noises Mingyu makes that drive him a little crazy. Jihoon screws his eyes shut and breathes. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, the adrenaline from digging a bullet out of Mingyu’s arm, the constant thought that he’s the first person to be inside of Mingyu. He’s edging on desperate, aching for release before they’ve even really started.

"So good," Jihoon mumbles, half dazed. He grips Mingyu's thighs and squeezes.

Mingyu keens and Jihoon has to slow his hips before he comes from the sound alone.

"Wanna be good for you," he pants, back arching as he thrusts back against Jihoon.

It's almost like he hand picked Mingyu from a website with the way their likes meld together, ticking the boxes for everything he could possibly want in a partner.

Jihoon shudders and fucks into him faster. "Yeah?" He turns his head and nips Mingyu's calf. His fingers twist in the sheets and Jihoon leans forward, folds Mingyu almost in half and slams inside.

Mingyu moans so loud Jihoon knows his neighbors can hear it through the wall. Jihoon smirks as he inhales sharply, eyes fluttering.

“There?” he teases, thrusting shallowly on purpose. Mingyu whines and Jihoon feels every leftover bit of blood in his veins shoot down. He’s so turned on he can barely think.

“God, yes, _please, don’t stop_ —”

He gives in right away, the need to get off outweighing the desire to pull more pretty whines from Mingyu’s lips. 

If there’s a next time, Jihoon plans to tease him until he cries.

He shrugs Mingyu’s leg off of his shoulder and wraps it around his waist. Mingyu pulls him closer like he can’t help it, like he’s got to. Jihoon picks up the pace, slams into him and pumps his cock in time. Each thrust has him brushing over Mingyu where he wants it most. Mingyu’s moans rise in pitch and Jihoon is so close he can’t take it.

He notices a trickle of blood coming from the stitches in Mingyu’s arm. A small part of him wants to run his fingers through it, smear it over Mingyu’s skin, make him come and add blood to the mess.

He strokes his thumb over the head of Mingyu’s cock and slams into him.

“F-fuck, I’m —” Mingyu pants. He’s rolling his hips now, fucking Jihoon back in a way that edges on desperate, rhythmless and seeking.

“Wanna see you come,” Jihoon groans. Mingyu’s eyelids flutter and he nods, face flushed dark with arousal. His cock twitches in Jihoon’s hand and yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s got Mingyu all figured out.

“Be a good boy and come for me,” Jihoon growls, a command. Mingyu moans, long and loud and it’s two more pumps of his cock before he comes all over his stomach, back arching off the bed with the force of his orgasm.

Jihoon isn’t far behind. The feeling of Mingyu tightening around him, the sight of him lost to pleasure is all it takes. His rhythm stutters as he comes with a groan, teeth sinking into Mingyu’s collar bone as he falls forward. He rides it out, grinding into him until Mingyu whines, over sensitive. Mingyu’s hands slide up and down his back lazily, all but pinning him in place. He sighs but settles against him.

“That was...wow,” Mingyu says.

Jihoon huffs a laugh. “Eloquent.”

He can feel Mingyu frown even without seeing him. 

“I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but it’s definitely better than I expected.”

Jihoon props himself up on his hands again and looks down at Mingyu’s face. He’s still flushed, body almost unbearably hot beneath him. He’s beautiful, really, and if Jihoon had turned his songwriting hobby into a full blown career instead of going to med school he’d call Mingyu his muse, but never out loud. 

He smirks. “Say that too much and it’ll go to my head.”

He kisses Mingyu because it feels right, and Mingyu sighs, melts into the bed and pulls at him until they’re back to being skin on skin. It’s almost achingly intimate, and for a split second Jihoon considers that they could be, that maybe, this could be something that they do.

It feels like hours before he breaks the kiss and pulls out. Mingyu’s face flushes hot and the corner of Jihoon’s mouth ticks up before he can stop himself. He walks across the hall and tosses the condom in the trash. He washes his hands out of habit and wets a cloth for Mingyu. He looks at his reflection, the slight dark circles that never really go away, the tiny, fine lines he’s starting to get around his eyes from years of squinting. He wonders briefly if Mingyu cares about that kind of thing, but shakes the thought away before it can take root. He wouldn’t be here if he cared.

When he goes back into the bedroom he tosses the damp cloth onto Mingyu’s stomach and waits for him to open his eyes and clean himself up. He doesn’t, too tired or too blissed out to move. Jihoon sighs and cleans the come off his skin.

He flops back on the bed, rests his head on his arms and shuts his eyes.

“Thank you, again,” Mingyu says, so quiet Jihoon hardly catches it.

Jihoon cracks his eye open and Mingyu is sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Mingyu turns to him with a sheepish look. “Going home.”

Jihoon sits up and sighs. He puts a hand on Mingyu’s uninjured shoulder, and Mingyu turns to look at him fully. 

“Stay. Sleep. I don’t mind.” Jihoon gives him a smile, a real one that he saves for special occasions and, apparently, for men who bottom for the first time. “You need to let your body heal, anyway. Doctor’s orders.”

Mingyu looks at the place where they touch, quiet as he thinks it over. Eventually he grins, eyes bright as he flops back onto the bed.

“Whatever you say, Doctor.”

Jihoon has to fight very hard not to wrap his arm around Mingyu’s waist as they settle in to sleep.

♞

Jihoon wakes up to the smell of coffee, strong and warm. The sun is high in his window when he cracks open his eyes. He’s still groggy, but the sound of pans banging in his kitchen forces him out of bed.

He throws on a pair of sweatpants, skips the shirt, and pads down the hall.

Mingyu is in front of the stove, shirtless, bandaged arm resting carefully at his side. He’s fiddling with the gas, trying to get the stove to light. 

Jihoon walks to the coffee pot and Mingyu is so startled he drops the empty pan on the floor.

“Jesus, make a little noise next time,” Mingyu gasps, hand over his heart.

Jihoon doesn’t comment on the next time, just pours coffee into a cup and leans against the counter. 

As a doctor, the first thing he should be paying attention to is Mingyu’s arm. Instead, his eyes trail down the lean expanse of his torso, hover at the waistband of the jeans from last night he threw back on. Jihoon scowls.

“I can wash those for you,” he says absently.

Mingyu looks up from the stove, finally lit, and grins. The words register in his mind and he sips his coffee, hiding his embarrassment by burning his tongue.

“You’ve done enough. I’ll live until I make it home.”

Jihoon smirks. “You cook for everyone you sleep with, or is this for digging a bullet out of you?”

Mingyu hides his expression by tossing rice into the pan. He busies himself with cooking. Jihoon pretends for a moment it doesn’t make him angry, but after he downs his entire cup of coffee and Mingyu still hasn’t said a word, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“Would you rather talk about what it is that you do for a living, exactly? And why every time I’ve seen you you’re in worse shape?”

Mingyu does turn to him then, mouth set in a straight line. The atmosphere is weirdly domestic, but the air between them is tense. Jihoon is good at this though. Anger is like a warm blanket, threadbare but familiar, easy to slip into.

“You’re a doctor. I can’t help that you’ve been at the hospital when I’ve gone there.”

“You know what I mean,” Jihoon counters quickly. 

There is no reason for any of this to be happening. Jihoon shouldn’t have this knot in his chest, shouldn’t be sitting down at his kitchen table eating food cooked for him by a former patient. He shouldn’t be thinking about how warm Mingyu’s skin is under his hands, the way he tastes. 

The problem is it’s all he can think about. The anger chases it back.

“I can’t tell you much. Even if I wanted to,” Mingyu mumbles into his own coffee.

The bandage on his arm has blood on it. Jihoon will have to change it before he leaves.

“It’s a little dangerous, but it pays well. Sometimes I get hurt, but that could happen at any job.” Mingyu looks across the table at him, a fond smile on his lips. “Besides, I met you. I never would have if I had some boring office job.”

Jihoon’s heart thuds against his ribs. He frowns.

“It’s a safety thing, right? Not for me, for you.” Mingyu hesitates before nodding, once. “If you tell me you’ll get in a lot of trouble.” Another nod. “I understand. You’ve told me enough. I won’t ask you any more questions about it.”

Mingyu takes a bite of rice and sighs, tension Jihoon hadn’t noticed was there dissipating from his shoulders.

Jihoon takes a bite of his breakfast. It’s good. Better than his own half-assed attempts to cook. 

He grins behind his coffee mug.

“But you didn't answer my first question. Do you cook for everyone you sleep with?”

Mingyu downs his coffee in one shot. When he sets his mug on the table he’s got an almost cocky smile on his face.

“Gotta say thanks, don’t I?”

Jihoon laughs and Mingyu is quick to follow him. There is a strange comfort in being with him. They’re still nowhere near friends, a little more than acquaintances. Jihoon wants to see him again, and the realization isn’t a surprise. Mingyu is probably, definitely, dangerous. Best case scenario he’s a bodyguard, worst case he’s, well, Jihoon doesn’t even want to think the organization name.

There are worse things he could do than this. He’s certain of it. 

After they finish eating Jihoon makes him take a shower. He waits for Mingyu to come out, water still streaming down his chest, before sitting him on his bed to assess his arm. 

“I should really get you some antibiotics,” Jihoon mutters as he dries and wraps the wound. “Prophylactic. You don’t have an infection but it’s really best you don’t get one at all.”

Mingyu reaches up and rests his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve really touched since last night. Heat spreads out from Jihoon’s navel.

“I’ll be careful. Promise.”

“You better be,” Jihoon says, tucking the last of the bandage in place. Mingyu’s arm is dressed in clean white. He turns to rummage through his dresser and tosses Mingyu a faded gray shirt.

“It should fit you. I don’t want you putting that dirty one over your wound,” he says as explanation.

Mingyu smiles and slips the shirt over his head. It’s from Jihoon’s university, the name in faded scarlet on the front. His roommate had bought the shirt too big on purpose, a size joke he never thought got old, even after they graduated. Jihoon never bothered throwing it away.

Mingyu doesn’t stay. Jihoon doesn’t ask him to. Before he leaves, Jihoon hands him a key.

“If something happens and you can’t go to the hospital, just come here. If I’m not home, wait for me. I’ll take care of it, no questions.”

And maybe it’s a little dangerous, but Jihoon can’t bear the idea of Mingyu going to some shady back alley doctor to get hacked up and scarred. He can do an excellent job from home, and now that he’s offered he can get more supplies from work, just in case.

Mingyu stares at the key for a long time before finally slipping it into his pocket.

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you around, Doctor Lee.”

“Jihoon. Just Jihoon, here,” he says, looking down at the floor.

“Okay. See you, Jihoon.”

The door shuts with a soft click and he can’t stop thinking about what Mingyu might look like the next time he sees him.

♞

Jihoon stays so busy that he loses track of time. There are fleeting moments, late afternoons when he wakes up for a night shift, sunrise on his walk home, where Mingyu crosses his mind. He doesn't worry about Mingyu coming in on a stretcher. He doesn't dread opening a patient's curtain, not even when Junhui gives him a look after handing him a chart.

It's late summer, and Jihoon has almost permanently switched to evening shift rotations in the emergency room. It gives him enough time to do things in the morning, and enough time that he could even go out to bars after work if he wanted. He walks home, enjoys the cooler air that the approach of fall has brought in. It's when he gets to his front door that things start to seem out of place.

At first it's a feeling, like something is not quite the way he left it, even from outside of his apartment. He twists his key in the lock and when he opens the door there is something dark on his fingertips. He barely has time to register the stain on his fingers. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, there's a voice to his left.

"Thank god."

Jihoon drops everything in the entryway, only stopping to lock the door firmly behind he clicks on the light and walks toward the voice.

There is a puddle of blood on the floor. Mingyu's face is pale and shiny with sweat, a knife sticking out of his left thigh. Jihoon's eyes fly all over his body as his mind works in overdrive. It doesn't look like there's any other major damage. His lip is busted, a bruise blooming dark and ugly over his face. Interrogation, maybe, Jihoon’s mind supplies. He doesn't have time to think about what happened. The knife is right in the center. He hopes that means it’s clear of the femoral artery.

Jihoon washes his hands in the sink before he finally gets close to Mingyu. His hands are shaking, just a little. He forces them to still.

"How long have you been here?" Jihoon asks.

Mingyu’s breath shakes as he inhales. "Maybe an hour. I don't really know. Why?"

"I need to know how much you're bleeding," he says, like it should be obvious to someone with no medical training.

Mingyu's pupils are blown. He's in shock, or on the way there. Jihoon puts a hand on Mingyu's shoulder.

"I'm gonna get supplies. I'll be right back."

Mingyu nods, his eyes squeezing shut as he takes a breath. Jihoon runs to the bathroom, loading up his arms with gauze and saline. He’s got to stop the bleeding. Tape. Gloves. Jihoon grabs that too and runs back to the kitchen.

Mingyu's eyes are still shut when he gets back. Jihoon drops everything on the table and slams his hand against the wood. Mingyu's eyes open slowly, reluctantly. Jihoon grips his shoulder tight enough to hurt.

"You _cannot_ do that again, do you hear me? Stay awake. I need you to stay with me."

In another life, where the two of them met through mutual friends and are on the way to falling in love, it could be a confession. But here, it's that Mingyu might not wake up if he falls asleep.

Jihoon gets on his knees. Mingyu's blood soaks into his scrubs, and he's sort of glad he forgot he was still wearing them. It's fine if he has to throw them away after this. His eyes focus on the knife. It doesn’t seem particularly long, but it is wide, three fingers thick at least.

"You should have gone to the hospital. What the fuck were you _thinking_?" Jihoon mutters.

Mingyu hisses when Jihoon puts his hand on his knee.

"What am I supposed to tell them, exactly? I botched a job, got interrogated for a few hours, and dumped on the side of the road when I wouldn't give up intel?"

Jihoon looks up at Mingyu and frowns.

"You're not supposed to be telling me this. Focus. As soon as I pull the knife out I have to work fast or there's a possibility you'll bleed out."

The corner of his mouth quirks up, barely a smirk but Jihoon will take it. Even in circumstances like this Mingyu is still a little too cocky for his own good.

“It’s not like you’re going to turn me in,” he pants. 

Jihoon snaps on a pair of gloves and grabs his bandage scissors. He cuts around the knife carefully, removes sections of denim until most of Mingyu’s thigh is bare.

He douses the area in saline. Mingyu’s entire body jerks like he’s been punched.

“Fuck _fuck fuck_ ,” he hisses, “Could have warned me.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive. I don’t have time.”

Mingyu squeezes his hands together in his lap. They’re white, grip tight as he fights through what Jihoon is sure must be agonizing pain.

“I’m sorry. It’s got to be as clean as I can get it before I take the knife out.”

Mingyu nods, face pale. “I trust you. Why do you think I came here?”

Jihoon takes a deep breath. He readies a thick layer of gauze in his left hand, his right hovering at the hilt of the knife. He looks up into Mingyu’s eyes.

“I have to pull it out now. Then I’ll apply pressure. If the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes I’m calling an ambulance.”

Mingyu bites his lip and glances away. “I guess you’re not giving me a choice.”

“I’m not,” Jihoon answers, frowning.

He counts to three out loud and pulls the knife free. It clatters to the floor. Blood wells up like a fountain, pours down Mingyu’s leg thickly. Jihoon slaps the gauze against the wound, uses both hands and presses his body weight against it.

Mingyu gasps, and as soon as Jihoon is pressing on his thigh his hands fly to his shoulders. He squeezes him hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. The two of them will be here for awhile, anyway.

It’s quiet. The only sounds are Jihoon’s heartbeat, loud in his ears, and Mingyu’s harsh breathing. After three minutes the gauze is wet.

“Mingyu. Hand me more gauze. Now,” Jihoon snaps. 

Mingyu takes a hand off his shoulder to do as he’s asked, holding a stack of clean, white gauze in front of his face. Jihoon takes it one handed and layers over top, keeping as much constant pressure on the wound as he can.

“You pressing on it fucking hurts,” Mingyu grits out once Jihoon’s full weight is back on him.

Jihoon huffs. “This is the only way to stop the bleeding here. If you wanted it to hurt less you should have gone to the fucking hospital.”

The minutes pass by. Jihoon counts Mingyu's breaths to pass the time. The second layer of gauze stays mostly dry, only a spot the size of a nickel breaking through. It's good. It's better than good.

After exactly ten minutes Jihoon eases his body weight off of Mingyu's thigh. Blood doesn't pour from the wound. The gauze doesn't instantly soak through. Jihoon lets out a long breath.

He gets off his knees and tosses his bloody gloves into the trash.

"I'm gonna wrap your leg up now. Then you're going to take this antibiotic. Then I'm getting you into bed."

Mingyu manages an almost suggestive eyebrow quirk. Jihoon rolls his eyes.

"Don't be a smartass," he says, regloving and winding the roll of bandages carefully around Mingyu's thigh. "Like you'd even be able to get it up."

Mingyu huffs. "Wasn’t a problem last time."

"Last time you had a bullet hole in your arm. This time you’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

"Wanna try?" Mingyu asks, eyes as sultry as he can make them. Jihoon winds the last of the roll around his thigh and tucks it into place.

"I’d rather not end up on some crazy episode of Sex Sent Me To the ER, thanks," Jihoon deadpans. He tosses a towel over the mess of blood and saline on the tiles. He'll regret not cleaning it up tomorrow, when the blood dries into the grout and he has to spend hours scrubbing it with a toothbrush, but right now it doesn’t really matter.

He gives Mingyu the antibiotic. Cipro, broad spectrum. There's a pharmacist that has a crush on him, and normally Jihoon wouldn't take advantage, but he’s been trying to stockpile his apartment for just this situation. Besides, Soonyoung knows that the feelings aren’t mutual, anyway.

Getting Mingyu on his feet is a challenge. His face goes white when his leg straightens but there's no gush of blood. Jihoon feels a little too comfortable having Mingyu pressed against his side, a little too content with their intimacy. He ignores everything that isn't the task at hand. Mingyu's arm around his shoulders is bruising.

It's a slow, careful limp into Jihoon's bedroom. He eases Mingyu onto the mattress.

"The pants need to go," Jihoon says. Mingyu's eyes are impossibly wide.

"They can't. My leg —"

"I'll help you. It's going to be fine," Jihoon rushes out, cutting off Mingyu's protests. He eases Mingyu back against the pillows and unbuttons his jeans. The context is so wildly different from last time they were in his bed. It's jarring, but the adrenaline coursing through Jihoon's veins is different, too. Mingyu lifts his hips carefully, and Jihoon eases his pants off. It's relatively painless. As a doctor, Jihoon doesn't have to do this kind of thing often. It's usually left to the nurses or nursing assistants, but he's seen how Junhui handles even the rowdiest patients with gentle but efficient hands.

Mingyu's down to briefs and a black shirt.

"Take that off, too. I'll get you something else, if you want," Jihoon says, frowning at the dark ring of sweat around the collar of Mingyu's shirt.

How far did Mingyu have to walk to get here? How much pain has he been in, and for how long?

Mingyu sighs, a half smile on his lips.

"If you wanted me naked you could have just asked."

"If you wanted me to fuck you should have just come over," Jihoon snaps, “You don’t have to almost die in order to see me."

Mingyu pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor. There’s a soft, pink scar on his bicep. Jihoon swallows past the feeling that crawls up from his chest. He manages to find Mingyu an undershirt, stretched out from age. He tosses it on the bed and Mingyu slips it over his head. Jihoon figured it would be tight even with as worn as it is but it's like a second skin, every muscle of Mingyu's upper body on display.

Jihoon leaves his bloody scrubs in a pile on the floor. He can deal with it tomorrow.

He has to crawl over Mingyu to get to the other side of the bed. There is a moment where he's hovering over him, mindful of the bandages on his thigh, and something passes between them, wordless but weighted. He lays on his back and Mingyu settles in next to him. It's almost domestic. The problem is, of course, that Jihoon won't be sleeping. He's going to call in as soon as Mingyu falls asleep.

It's quiet for a long time, the low hum of the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and Mingyu's breathing, still pained but starting to even out, taking up space between them.

Eventually, Mingyu's breathing stabilizes, and the last thing he says before he finally falls asleep is "thank you."

Jihoon turns over. Mingyu's face is slack, younger somehow, in sleep. He's got the blanket pulled over half of his body, his injured leg outside of the covers. The bandage is still clean and white in the dimness and Jihoon is unbelievably grateful.

For a long time, Jihoon fiddles with the ends of Mingyu's hair and thinks about how if the knife had been an inch to the left he would have died in Jihoon's apartment. It's worse that he doesn't know how he feels about it. Mingyu is still his patient on some level, and while losing a patient is hard, it's a daily occurrence in the world of medicine. 

He hasn’t decided what exactly Mingyu is to him, but the idea of walking into his apartment to find him cold, blood pooled under him, sits heavy in Jihoon's gut.

♞

The night crawls by. Jihoon waits a few hours before grabbing his phone off the nightstand and calling the hospital. Checking Mingyu's breathing becomes second nature. He doesn't move around too much in his sleep, and Jihoon manages to doze lightly in half hour increments.

In the morning, sunlight pours into Jihoon's bedroom. Rays paint Mingyu's skin warm gold. The bandage on his thigh has a single spot of red the size of a half dollar.

Jihoon shakes him gently by the shoulder. 

"I need you to wake up. We've got to take care of your leg," he says.

Mingyu jolts awake, bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and hand under the pillow. Jihoon wonders if Mingyu keeps a gun there in his own apartment. If he lives the kind of life where he'd need a gun that close.

He looks down at Jihoon's hand on his shoulder, at the bandage covering his thigh. Awareness returns and so does pain. Mingyu shuts his eyes tightly as he acclimates to it. Jihoon’s hand moves to his chest. He counts the beats of Mingyu’s heart, watches his breathing, and when he’s satisfied that Mingyu isn’t going to collapse he pulls away.

He gets his feet on the floor and holds a hand out for Mingyu. 

“Come on. Let’s get this over with, then you can go back to sleep.”

Mingyu sighs. Like this they are almost eye to eye, so when Mingyu meets his gaze it’s sharper somehow, charged.

“Okay.”

Jihoon helps him out of bed, puts the majority of Mingyu’s weight on his shoulders and they make the trek to the bathroom.

“You’re so heavy,” Jihoon grits, eyes on the floor in front of him. 

Mingyu chuckles. “Gotta be fit for my job. You weren’t complaining last time I was here.”

Jihoon huffs. “I wasn’t carrying your dead weight last time.”

He gets Mingyu seated on the edge of the bathtub and digs out the supplies he needs from the cabinet. Back on his knees. Mingyu better not get used to the idea.

"How long do you have to lay low?" Jihoon asks as he unravels the bandage.

Mingyu looks surprised. "What makes you think I have to lay low?"

Jihoon rolls his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Mingyu. I have a doctorate. You came here instead of going to the hospital. You could have come up with something to explain the knife, but you didn't. " Jihoon glances into Mingyu's eyes before looking back down at what his hands are doing. "So just answer my question."

Mingyu sighs.

"I don't...know. A few days, at best. Maybe longer."

Jihoon nods. "I'm actually not going into work again until Saturday. It's also my professional opinion that you should stay here until then. The longer you let your leg heal before you go back to doing god knows what, the better."

The outer bandage removed, Jihoon uses some saline soaked swabs to loosen the bloody gauze without opening the wound. It's a slow, monotonous kind of thing, enjoyable in the way monotony can be.

"You really think I'd put myself at risk like that?" Mingyu asks. 

There's something almost like hurt in his voice, like Jihoon should know him better even though the only things Jihoon really knows about him is the way his body trembles when he's getting fucked and the way his face looks when Jihoon is patching him up.

"I'm more worried you wouldn’t have a choice," Jihoon admits.

The bloody gauze comes off and the wound stays closed. It’s an ugly thing, red mouth across his skin. He looks up at Mingyu with a frown.

"You need to get clean. I want to keep weight off your leg, but you can't soak in the bathtub. So you can either sit on the edge and take a glorified sponge bath or I can get in the shower with you."

Mingyu’s eyes are way too dark for how much pain he must be in.

“I don’t mind. You’ve already seen everything there is to see.”

Jihoon doesn’t object, just turns on the water and lets it heat up. Mingyu manages to undress himself without too much trouble, and Jihoon keeps it efficient, piling his clothes in a heap near the door. 

He gets in first. Mingyu swings his legs carefully into the tub and Jihoon helps him stand. 

The first time the lukewarm water touches Mingyu’s leg he goes white, fingers tight on Jihoon’s shoulders like he’ll fall if he doesn’t cling to something.

Eventually he gets used to it, or maybe it stops hurting. Pain is strange like that. The brain is amazingly good at tricking you into believing whatever it wants. Mingyu tilts his head back and wets his hair. Jihoon does the best he can to not stare at the streams of water pouring down Mingyu’s abs.

Mingyu gets clean in stages. Hair first. The rest of his body next. Jihoon gives him a fresh washcloth for his wound. 

“Maybe I should do it,” Jihoon says quietly, and it’s at this moment that he realizes Mingyu is staring at him, something dark just behind his eyes. “I don’t trust you to clean it properly.”

Mingyu smirks and they carefully trade places, leans back against the wall and Jihoon is under the spray. There’s something between them, taking shape like a living thing.

“Whatever you want, Doctor,” Mingyu says. His eyes are on Jihoon’s half hard cock, which he has been resolutely ignoring until now, some combination of morning wood and the gorgeous man in front of him.

He has to step into Mingyu’s personal space to clean his thigh. The wound is red, angry from the water and the tiny amount of weight Mingyu has been putting on it. The first gentle swipe of the cloth over the gash has Mingyu gasping.

“ _Fuck_ , that sucks,” he grits from between his teeth. 

“Almost finished,” Jihoon assures. It’s four passes over the area before he’s satisfied with it. The wound is still mostly closed, but cleaning has made a few areas start up, pink suds running down Mingyu’s skin. He cups his hands and gathers some water, pouring it over the wound until the soap is all gone.

Mingyu’s breathing is ragged and Jihoon’s eyes wind up his body slowly. It’s not a surprise that Mingyu is hard, or that his hands are balled into fists against the wall, or even that he’s looking down at the barely there space between them with half lidded eyes.

Jihoon is most surprised with the ease that he drops to his knees on the porcelain and takes Mingyu’s cock into his mouth.

Mingyu swears, a hand coming up to Jihoon’s hair right away, slipping through the damp strands. 

Blood mingles with water and runs down Mingyu’s leg. There is a twisted part of him that wants to lick it off, wants to run his fingers through the thicker, darker parts and taste Mingyu in every way. He keeps his hands on Mingyu’s hips, holds him still while he bobs his head lower.

“What’s — _god_ — this for?” Mingyu gasps out.

Jihoon rubs his tongue along the underside of Mingyu’s dick. He doesn’t bother answering with words. It’s a little too complicated to explain, anyway. Jihoon takes a hand off of Mingyu’s hip and wraps it around what he hasn’t put in his mouth, working Mingyu with a controlled pace he’s been told borders on cruel.

It’s the pain, maybe, the adrenaline of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours that makes him too aroused to care about teasing. Jihoon takes his hand off Mingyu’s cock and nods, blinks up at Mingyu through wet lashes and he groans, grip tightening in Jihoon’s hair.

Mingyu’s first thrust is careful, experimental, like he’s not sure if Jihoon can really take all of him. Jihoon’s hand snakes down to his own cock and he moans around Mingyu as he strokes himself.

Mingyu stops being careful, then, fucks Jihoon’s mouth like it’s his life line. He’s careful to keep his weight off his leg, and Jihoon wants to tell him _good boy_ or something equally likely to get both of them riled up. They shouldn’t be doing this at all, really, but Mingyu’s breath is already coming faster, heat pooling under Jihoon’s navel.

“Should I —?” Mingyu pants, letting Jihoon slip off him with a slick sound. 

“Whatever you want. I don’t care,” Jihoon answers, hand tightening around himself. His eyes flutter and Mingyu moves his hand to his jaw, thumb pressed against his bottom lip, spit slick and swollen. Jihoon looks up at him and nips at his thumb, impatient.

Mingyu smirks and his hand is back in Jihoon’s hair, grip tight as he slips back inside his mouth. The pace is brutal. All Jihoon can do is relax his jaw. It’s not much longer until Mingyu’s thrusts go erratic, coming with a gasp down Jihoon’s throat. He’s right behind, thrusting into his fist and moaning around Mingyu’s cock, swallowing Mingyu’s come as his own drips down his hand.

His knees are screaming when he starts to come down. Mingyu grins at him. Endorphins are wonderful painkillers, and if anyone asks that’s what he’ll say. He gets up with a wince and gets himself clean, careful to not get any soap on Mingyu’s wound. He’s still against the wall, lips turned up with a small, content kind of smile.

♞

This is how they spend the next few days. Jihoon heating up soup and rice, ordering takeout so Mingyu doesn’t have to suffer through eating his barely passable meals. Mingyu sleeping. Sometimes they talk, but Jihoon doesn’t want to pry. 

“I already know everything I need to know about you,” he says softly, when Mingyu asks him about it one night.

Mingyu grins, answers “Okay.”

He washes Mingyu’s clothes and dresses his wound. Sometimes he kisses him and pretends it doesn’t mean anything.

By the third day the cut is healed enough that Mingyu can limp around without Jihoon worrying he’ll bleed out. It’s a relief, but Jihoon knows it means he’ll go back to his own place soon.

A sleek black car drives slowly past Jihoon’s apartment complex and parks at the end of the street. Mingyu stares, and Jihoon stays pointedly quiet. 

“I, uh, I think I have to go,” Mingyu says, eyes never leaving the window. 

A slender man with silver hair and dark sunglasses steps out of the back seat. Mingyu’s eyes are huge.

“Come back in a week, if you can,” Jihoon says. “I want to make sure you’re healing properly. Take all the antibiotics I gave you.”

Mingyu finally turns to look at him. There’s something there, hidden behind what Jihoon is beginning to realize is his work mask, the face he shows to bosses and the men he probably kills.

“I will. Promise,” Mingyu says, hasty, like he’s afraid Jihoon won’t let him promise anything. “Next time, I won’t be hurt. We can go somewhere, if you want.”

Jihoon’s face feels hot as he rolls his eyes, a betrayal of his own biology. Mingyu kisses him, slow and sweet before he leaves with a rushed _thank you, for everything_.

The silver haired man pretends not to notice what apartment Mingyu emerges from, but Jihoon knows he’s been noted, that whatever Mingyu is involved in is now something he’s dipped his toe into, too.

He’s not scared. Mingyu has probably done this before. Eventually the silver haired man will forget him, just another random place, another nameless person.

Mingyu gets in the back seat, the car drives away, and Jihoon is alone. His apartment seems too quiet. He keeps his mind off of it by cleaning, getting everything ready for the grueling work week ahead of him. 

Jihoon knows how deep he’s in for Mingyu, knows that as much as he pretends he doesn’t, he wants something like this. Someone to come home to, or to come home to him. He’s not picky. And maybe Mingyu is dangerous, and maybe his life isn’t made for a real relationship either. The label doesn’t matter. Jihoon knows he’s going to spend his first day back at work in a haze, half his brain on Mingyu and his injury until Junhui tries to weasel information out of him. 

And maybe he’ll expect to see a tall figure in his apartment, but that will fade, and Mingyu will come back when he can, or when he has to.

Jihoon went to med school. He knows how to be patient. He’ll do his job, go to the gym, fiddle with some new hobby or other, and eventually Mingyu will open his front door.

He can wait, however long it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


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